World Travel Guide Online

French School and Kalimochos
Angers, France

The Spanish Mafia takes care of some kalimocho business. Paula’s in the front row, left, wearing a white shirt.

Angers, France, is home to CIDEF – centre international d’etudes Francaises – one of the best French learning programs in France. Students attend the Universite Catholique de L’Ouest, and can take up to 80 hours of intensive French courses. The diplome is not easy, but definitely worth it. Besides studying, I have never had such a blast in my life. To me, understanding – while at the same time being embraced by – another culture is the biggest high. So, of course, I had to go back to study in Angers again. Who cares if I am in debt to American Express and Mastercard for the rest of my life?

The arrival in Paris was a bit problematic. As I exit onto the terminal, I realize that money is badly needed. As I approached the ATM, I noticed that the keypad was numbers only, no letters. Of course, my ATM code is a cute little word, and there was no way, as much as I tried, that the number code could be figured out. Stuck without money, oh well. Hello, lovely AMEX card!

I am outside exit 8A in CDG airport waiting for the little shuttle bus to take me to Roissy train station. So we arrive, and I am completely confused. Was this where I arrived last year? So fixing my bright blue Kipling backpack and red luggage (Hi, I’m a tourist!) I walk around a bit. I walk around some more, and feel like a complete idiot. I am absolutely lost. And I was so determined to do this on my own.

Finally, I give in and ask an official looking CDG guy, in the very best Francais I can manage, where the ticket counter is. Mistake. He thought I spoke perfect French. Now, my French isn’t bad, but CDG guy spoke in such a rapid fire way, I felt too embarrassed to ask him again. Uh oh. CDG guy is smiling, waiting for a response. I say a very bright “D’accord! Merci!” and head off to the direction CDG guy pointed towards, bright blue backpack bouncing. Success! Fifteen minutes later, I find the ticket counter.

“Bonjour, petite!” says grandfatherly looking ticket man. I say hello, and ask to buy a ticket to Angers.

“Oh la la! Le dernier TGV left 20 minutes ago. C’est moche ca.”

My face falls.

“Ca pas grave, petite! The next one leaves in 3 hours.”

I get to wait in the train station 3 hours with no money – yay! Luckily, I still will make it to Angers by dinner time. (Dinner at “La Catho” dining hall, complete with BOPI orange juice is not to be missed!) Finally, I am sitting on the train, curled up on the seat with my book. As we head off, I catch my reflection in the window. I have been awake for about 20 hours. My hair is messy, what little makeup I wear has long since rubbed off, there are huge circles under my eyes, which definitely look droopy. Sexy! I look like the disheveled and tired version of an Olsen twin – uh-oh. Somehow, the guy in the seat behind me keeps looking at me through the window. Our eyes meet. I become absorbed in my Bill Bryson book.

Paola, Isabel, and Paula by Chateau d’Angers.

Huh? Who is nudging my shoulder?

“Sorreeee!” says Frenchboy, peeking between the seats. “Italiana?”

Oh, brother. I shake my head no.

“American? English?” asks his friend.

I shake my head and say Mexico.

Their eyes light up. “Hola!”

“Est-ce que tu parles francais?”

I lie and say no. Back off, Frenchboy. And guess what? I speak very little English as well. I go back to my book.

Face between the seats again. “Soreee! You are very beeyootiful!”

Huh? I look dead! Luckily, Frenchboy and friend left in Nantes.

I arrived in Angers with no further problems besides, well, the money thing. I get to my dorm, Foyer Ormieres, and give a hug to Soeur Araceli, my favorite Spanish nun. She oversees the renovated chateau where we stay, and leads the protests against the sex shop across the street. It has become tradition for me to ask her to come out dancing with us at Dupon. As usual she just laughs and calls me “una traviesa coqueta!”

Grinning, I offer to let her borrow my halter top. She laughs and asks me to show the new girls around. They have that “I have just left the States for the first time” wide-eyed look. I show them to the University. After dinner, I take Paola, who is in the room next door to mine, to our local hangout Dupon.

When we get to Dupon, I hear a scream. Someone gives me a hug – Rocio, from Spain, one of my best friends last year. I love the girl to death. Dupon is the place where we will go out dancing most nights. Nicolas, the bartender, remembers me from the year before. Paul, a Kiwi who was also doing CIDEF last year, is now bartending there as well.

The Spanish Mafia extends their territory to Dupon.

Over time, our crowd becomes known as the Spanish Mafia, notorious for drinking all the carafes of wine at dinner. Hey, we liked toasting in all languages! The Spanish Mafia had 5 Spaniards, 6 Mexicans, 3 Americans, 2 Turks, 2 Germans, 1 Dutch, 1 Kosovo, and 1 hilarious Brazilian. Jesus, from Spain, explained the concept of “kalimocho” for us. You buy a liter of Coke, and really cheap red wine, and mix it together. Sounds weird, but is definitely fab. It is meant to be drunk outdoors, right before hitting the pubs.

So we steal the wine from the Dragon Lady (woman in charge of dining hall, who watched us like a hawk) and buy liters of Coca-Cola at the 24 hr PROXY mini-mart. Jesus became known as the Kalimaster, as he began the tradition of kalimocho every evening by Chateau d’Angers. Then we’d hit Dupon, where Nicolas would open the downstairs dance “cave” for us, and Paul would spin songs in Spanish. Weekends were spent at Cointreau museum, having coffee, getting lost, shopping, traveling. With my Mafia friends, I visited Bretagne, Normandy, Lille, London, Nice, Cannes, and Monaco. Our last day in Angers, we stayed all up all night, enjoying our last time in France together. I’ve never learned so much and had so many experiences, while at the same time having so much fun. Every summer should be like this.